Christmas Confusion
by IanPeriwinkle
Summary: A sort-of sequel to 'Sherlock's Huggy-Ness', it's Christmas-time, and Sherlock is having some concerns about his love for John. His family and friends, however, help him through this troubling time.
1. Chapter 1

**I decided to write a little Christmas fic for you all. My previous ****_Sherlock _****fic, ****_Sherlock's Huggy-Ness_****, was (and still is) very popular, so this is a little continuation of it. You don't need to have read the previous one for this to make sense, but I'd still recommend it so that you know what happened. **

**Anyway, enjoy the Christmas fluff.**

Hands intertwined tightly, Sherlock and John walked briskly through the snowy streets of London. Their breath billowed out in front of them, a brilliant white in the cold, crisp air.

"It's freezing," John hissed, holding his husband's hand tighter.

"Don't be silly, John," Sherlock reprimanded the doctor, "It's several degrees _above _freezing,"

"Oh, shut up,"

They turned and together walked up the steps to their apartment; 21B Baker Street.

Arriving inside, Sherlock and John helped each-other with their coats and settled down with some hot chocolate. While John made the drinks, he desperately avoided the jar of eyeballs sitting in the fridge next to the milk.

"John," Sherlock said, sitting in his usual awkward position, only now with his husband next to him.

"Yes?"

"It's Christmas tomorrow."

"No shit, Sherlock," John said dully, "I'd noticed that a while back."

"I'd noticed it, too," The man pouted, "But I'm not quite sure… What is it exactly that we have to do? We have to give each-other presents, but –"

"Sherlock," John whispered, placing a finger to his husband's lips, "You're rambling again."

"Sorry, but –"

"Don't mind it, darling," John shushed the taller man, "We're together, we're happy, and _I _have the most wonderful husband in the world. There is nothing that I need,"

"But –"

"Hush now,"

As he cuddled in bed with his husband, Sherlock couldn't help but feel extremely guilty. He didn't quite understand the concept of Christmas – Sure, he knew its origin. He knew the traditions. But he didn't understand _why_.

_But_, He thought to himself, wrapping his arms around John, _John will understand_.

Christmas Eve brought about a panic in flat 21B.

John ran from room to room, in his arms a growing pile of presents for their friends and family. He walked into the kitchen with his arms full and a small pink present (presumably for Mrs Hudson) balancing precariously on top.

"Sherlock," He panted, placing the presents down unceremoniously, "Are you nearly ready to leave?"

Sherlock looked down at his cup of tea solemnly, still wearing his pyjamas and dressing gown.

"Oh, Sherlock," He sighed, walking around to his husband, "What's wrong now?"

"I just –" The dark-haired detective sighed, "I _want _to understand feelings, but I _can't_. I love you, John – I really do. But I don't know _why_."

"That's okay," John said, placing one hand onto Sherlock's back and rubbing gently, "Nobody really understands their feelings – It's not something I'd expect from you."

"I couldn't decide what to get you," Whispered Sherlock.

"That's okay," John repeated, kissing his husband tenderly on the cheek, "But it's time to go now."

"I know," Said Sherlock, dejectedly, and he left the kitchen to dress.

People greeted each-other happily. Not always pleasantly, as demonstrated by Sherlock and Mycroft, but happily nonetheless. The party was in a small park near Joan's house, where the snow had fallen lightly, and the trees stood out against the pale sky brilliantly.

The two brothers sat next to each-other on a bench. The table in front of them was laden on one half with presents of all shapes and sizes, the other with multiple dishes of food.

"I still think this was a bad idea,"

"Shut up,"

"Why on _Earth _would you want –"

"_Shut up_,"

"I mean, honestly –"

"For God's sake, Mycroft, will you _shut up_?"

Mycroft looked at Sherlock incredulously. He was used to his brother's dislike for him, but the outburst wasn't at all in character.

"Okay," The older man whispered into his brother's ear, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Sherlock yelped.

"Sherlock, we may not get along, but I know you much better than you realise. Now _tell me what's wrong_!"

"No!"

"So there is something wrong?"

Sherlock sighed, "Yes, there is. I love John – I know I do. But… Well, I've been thinking, and I don't understand how to justify my feelings. _Why _do I love him?"

Mycroft looked stunned; Never before had he thought his brother possessed the ability to realise his emotions, but shrugging his shock off quickly, he replied: "Sherlock, you don't _actually _think you need a reason to love someone, do you?"

"I don't –"

"Shirley!" The call came from the street, where Joan was walking towards the gathering holding a large bag of presents, and a basket full of baked goods.

"Mummy," Sherlock and Mycroft greeted their elderly mother as she pecked them both on the cheek.

"Mycroft, you really _must _get married soon," She tutted, as she placed her basket and presents on the table, "And Sherlock; Can I expect any grandchildren in the future, or are you going to leave me a lonely old woman?"

Spluttering, Sherlock looked at his mother, honestly hurt by what she'd said.

"Dear, what's wrong?" She asked, surprised at her son's lack of witty comeback.

"He's having troubles with John," Mycroft supplied, a superior smirk on his face.

"My," Joan whispered, more to herself than anyone else, "What kind of troubles, darling?"

"No troubles," Sherlock glared at Mycroft icily, "Mycroft is just being stupid,"

"Now, now," Said a cheery voice, "Joan! It's nice to see you again,"

"Oh, _John_! How good to see you. You know, I was just asking Sherlock; Have you two thought about having children?"

John spluttered, as Sherlock had done, "N-No! Not yet, anyway!"

The elderly woman pouted, and turned to go over to another group. She started a conversation up with Mrs Hudson, as the three men watched her walk off.

Women.

**Um… I think that nine-hundred words is enough for a first chapter, because I have a feeling that if I finish it tonight, I won't be in bed until midnight. **

**Anyway, chapter two should be up in a short while; maybe tomorrow, maybe the next day. I hope that you enjoyed the beginning of my Christmas fic, and you should look forward to the next chapter.**


	2. Chapter 2

**I'm so sorry that I haven't updated this! I'm finishing it up with this chapter (people are following this! It's quite exciting)**

**Just… take it as a late Christmas present. Well, you're ****_traditionally _****supposed to open your presents on the twenty-sixth of December, anyway, so…**

**Enjoy, my fellow FanFiction-goers.**

"Sweetheart," John warned, holding his husband back.

It had been half an hour since their mother had walked off, and Mycroft hadn't let up; Attacking Sherlock's sexuality, his career, and now his mother's fixation on their having children.

"And now the _army doctor _is the calm one? What happened to your not caring, little brother?"

Sherlock growled, straining to get to his brother, "_Mycroft_, you can insult me, but I refuse to allow you to insult my husband,"

"_Allow _me?" Mycroft scoffed, "You couldn't hurt m –"He was cut off by a punch to the face.

John stood back, admiring his handiwork – A red mark stained Mycroft's pale skin.

"Shut up," John said, staring down in distaste at his brother-in-law.

Mycroft was shocked, but after a second recomposed himself and stood up. He looked at John contemplatively for a moment, and then stalked off.

"Good going, John," Sherlock whispered into John's ear, nibbling the soft flesh.

John flinched at the feeling, but quickly melted into his husband's embrace, "Sherlock," He moaned, "Not here, darling,"

"Oh, but I _so _want you,"

"Later,"

"_Now_,"

John turned around and pressed a kiss to Sherlock's lips, "Later,"

"But, John," The dark-haired man whined.

"Sherlock, I don't want to have sex in front of everyone," He paused, and chuckled for a moment, "No matter _how _into exhibitionism you are,"

"Exhibitionism?" Sherlock contemplated the idea for a few minutes, before a sneaky smile made its way to his lips, "That could be… _interesting_,"

Blushing, John hit Sherlock's arm, and walked away from the man.

"I'll talk to you again when you've cleaned up your dirty mind,"

"Oh, but it was _your _idea," Sherlock chuckled, wrapping his arms around John's waist, "And anyway, you can't walk away. It's too cold,"

John laughed and kissed Sherlock, "We'll have sex _later_,"

"Fine," Sherlock pouted.

It was time for presents. Joan was exceptionally excited. Neither of her sons seemed thrilled.

"Come on," She bustled around Sherlock, "It's time for Secret Santa,"

John was chuckling at Sherlock's face. The corners of his lips were turned down in what was most decidedly _not _a happy face.

"Oh, stop," Joan scolded, slapping Sherlock's head lightly with a floppy Santa hat, "You're getting free stuff. Get over it,"

"Yeah," He grumbled, pulling on the hat, "And giving away a ten pound gift,"

"Oh, shush,"

She hurried over to the table where the gifts had been placed. There were varied sizes and shapes, with colours ranging from hot pink to dark green. Seeing the clashing colours together hurt Sherlock's head.

"Ah," He sighed, reaching over and grabbing John's hand, "Let's get this over with and go home,"

"You don't seem well. Your hands are boiling," John looked to Sherlock, concerned. He reached a hand up and felt his husband's forehead, quickly pulling away, "Darling, you're burning up!"

"Doesn't matter," The consulting detective muttered, pushing against John's cool hand.

"Doesn't matter? Sherlock,"

"Time for presents!" Molly yelled, gesturing to the pile on the table.

"Okay, Sherlock" John sighed, "We'll get this over and done with, but then I'm taking you home,"

"'Kay, John,"

John gripped Sherlock's hand tightly and pulled him over to where their friends and family were collected. Various people were having conversations, and John heard small snippets such as:

"Oh, I hope I get something good this time,"

"It's bloody freezing!"

"God, if I got Mycroft again,"

The doctor ignored the other conversations and made his way over to Joan.

"Joan," John whispered, tapping her lightly on the shoulder.

"Yes, John?" The way she smiled so sweetly made John feel guilty.

"Sherlock isn't well; He's got a high fever, and I'd like to get him home," The woman's face fell, and she looks to Sherlock, concerned.

"Oh, dear, Sherlock," She sighed, "You never could take care of yourself,"

"I think we'll stick around for the Secret Santa, and then leave," John said, planting a kiss on Sherlock's cheek.

"Okay, hon,"

"Thank you so much," John gushed, "And sorry," He added, as an afterthought.

"It's okay, John. I'm glad that you want to take care of my son,"

Within minutes, everyone was seated around the table. People were chattering excitedly, and John noticed that Sherlock was starting to feel sick.

"Calm down, darling," John murmured into the dark-haired man's ear, "Only a few more minutes,"

"Mm," Sherlock groaned, leaning against his shorter partner.

Presents were handed out to their intended people, and the first person opened theirs. John was amused to see that it was the present he had bought for Mycroft. There had been considerable input from Sherlock, which had definitely influenced the gift.

Sherlock had been insistent on giving the man a wedding cake, all of his own.

Instead, after the man had opened his parcel, a small book was held up for everyone to see. Mycroft was obviously disgruntled.

"Fat-free cake recipes? Really, Sherlock; I would have thought you'd be more subtle,"

"Actually," Sherlock's voice slurred, "It wasn't me. Not this time, anyway,"

"Who, then?"

"I can't say,"

"What's wrong with your voice?"

"Nothing,"

"You're _ill_," Mycroft stated, slightly shocked, "But you're _never _ill!"

"It was me, Mycroft," John said, trying to distract the brothers from each-other.

"Oh,"

There was a certain tension amongst the group for a moment, before Joan announced a little too loudly and a little too happily that it was time for the next person to open their present.

"Now, come on," She encouraged Lestrade, "Open it,"

This went on, people receiving the strangest of gifts; Anderson a dinosaur, and John, for whatever reason, a lemon. Finally, it was Sherlock's turn. He slipped his finger under the wrapping, and pulled upwards, the wrapping falling off.

He held in his hands a small puzzle box. Intricate designs weaved their way around the edges, and Molly smiled prettily from the other side of the mat.

Sherlock couldn't hold on anymore; The puzzle box slipped from his grasp, and he fell against John, panting heavily.

John felt his brow. The hand came away covered in sweat.

"Darling," He whispered anxiously, "Sherlock, darling, we need to get you to hospital!"

**I'll leave it there, and you guys can wait a few days for another chapter. Mwahahahaha! Yeah. I'm probably not going to have internet access until Friday afternoon, when I arrive in Las Vegas. There's very little chance of me updating in the morning, because my grandparents, mother and I are leaving before seven o'clock.**

**Look forward to it, dudes!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Oh my; I haven't updated this in a while, have I? Looks like some fluff is in order! **

**But first, a little business… Would anybody out there be interested in some Harkness/Doctor action?**

**Anyway, get back to me on that. Now, I believe that I owe you lot a chapter.**

Sitting in hospital with the party was one of the strangest experiences that John had ever had to face. You had Joan, who was fretting over her younger son's wellbeing, then Mycroft, who was fretting over his worried mother. You had Anderson, as well, who was fidgeting a little bit, twirling his new toy dinosaur in his hands.

"Mother," Mycroft sighed, exasperated, "You're making a scene,"

"But my baby is in there _all alone_," She wailed, struggling to get through the door.

John stood and made his way between Joan and the door, "Please, Joan," He said in a tired voice, "Don't do this now,"

"Don't do what?" She snapped, "Don't worry about my child?"

"I'm not telling you not to worry, Joan," He soothed the woman, "But please don't yell. You're upsetting the other patients,"

Joan turns to look, and sure enough, a girl with dark red hair had curled up, covering her ears. Several children were looking nervously at the woman, and older people looked at her in confusion and disgust.

"Sorry," She mumbled, and John guided her back to her seat.

"Stay here, I'll go and get you a cup of tea, alright?" John ordered, "How do you take it?"

"White, two sugars,"

"I'll be right back,"

John shuffled away and came back ten minutes later with two polystyrene cups; One tea for him and one for Joan. He handed the woman her cup, and they sat next to each-other in silence, taking occasional sips of their warm beverages.

"I hope he gets out soon," Molly broke the silence, "It's too quiet without him,"

"That it is," Lestrade agreed.

Just as he was finishing, a nurse bustled out of the room, "Sorry to keep you waiting," She puffed, "But we've got his fever down again, and he should be right to see you. But please," She added, "Only two or three at a time,"

Joan quickly thanked the nurse and rushed in, John following closely behind her. They stepped into the room and were greeted with the sight of Sherlock's sleeping face.

John gave a slight smile and walked over to his husband, pressing a kiss into the curly locks.

"Aw, Sweetheart," He chuckled, "What are we ever going to do with you?"

**I think… This may be it. Honestly, I don't think that I can keep on writing this, but I should have some more of this universe up soon.**

**You didn't think I'd leave Joan's suggestions at that, did you?**


End file.
